Lucy Vickery

Spring villanelle

issue 06 April 2019

In Competition No. 3092 you were invited to submit a spring villanelle. The villanelle lends itself to themes of loss and time passing, but the somewhat gloomy mood of the entry was offset by how well you rose to the form’s technical challenges. Congratulations all round, but especially to unlucky losers Noah Heyl, R.M. Goddard, Philip Roe, and Jasper and Julia Griffin. The winners earn £30 each.
 

A green haze hints that spring might soon appear,
The trees come into leaf, unhurried, slow,
Like Brexit, always coming, never here.
 
The sky grows blue, the grey begins to clear
And as the flowers’ colours start to show,
A green haze hints that spring might soon appear.
 
Too long we’ve suffered February’s drear
With March and April still in winter’s tow
Like Brexit, always coming, never here.
 
And where is May with all her promised cheer?
Her blossoms still stay tightly closed, although
A green haze hints that spring might soon appear.
 
It hovers close, a presence almost near,
A seed in frozen soil that’s loath to grow
Like Brexit, always coming, never here.
 
Just like an engine stuck in bottom gear
That inches forwards caught in winter’s snow,
A green haze hints that spring might soon appear
Like Brexit, always coming, never here.
Alan Millard
 
The sun unpeels. It’s time to mind the mop,
To sluice the floors, to spruce up every room.
Don’t let the season catch you on the hop:
 
You have the power of a turboprop,
With dust to shift, and carpets to exhume —
The sun unpeels. It’s time to mind. The mop
 
Investigates each nook. You dunk and slop,
Until forgotten windows are in bloom.
Don’t let the season catch you on the hop.
 
Your feather duster — wield it like a crop.
It’s warm outside, though never ask for whom
The sun unpeels. It’s time to mind the mop,
 
To fill the vacuum speedily, chop-chop,
To shift the bristles quick, to groom the gloom.
Don’t let the season catch you on the hop:
 
Wipe off each table-top, and do not stop —
Catch every mote, and send it to its doom:
The sun unpeels, it’s time to.















































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